


Of Kings

by Jenwryn



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Golden Age (Narnia), M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-13
Updated: 2009-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything had gone just fine until the raid against the northern Giants. Set whilst they're are grown-ups, in Narnia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Kings

**Author's Note:**

> Terrible sentences are terrible, yikes.

Everything - no, really, everything - had gone _just fine_, until the raid against the northern Giants.

The tension between them, which (as Lucy had once said, with a knowing laugh and a sip of her wine) was positively _tactile_ at times, had been explained away as the natural result of having a two kings in such close proximity. People spoke of their brotherhood and comradeship, and did nothing more than shake their heads when, a month here, a month there, that comradeship would be wrenched assunder, and Edmund would go hunting for days.

Susan didn't speak of it at all. Lucy just smiled.

But it had been fine, really, honestly, it _had_ been, even though Peter had known full well that it wasn't; had known, deep down, that it was somehow crooked. Peter had also known that there were moments, some longer than others, when he'd questioned the very rationale of authority by virtue of nothing but the arbitrary factor of him being a few years older; he'd tried to convince himself that that was the problem.

But they'd managed, hadn't they?, and nobody had ever thought to broach the topic. There are things beneath the broad blue sky that are better left unspoken, after all.

Then that raid, though; one fight too many, the wrong glance at the wrong moment, a stumble of misplaced feet, and Edmund had ended up so injured that even _he _was forced to concede temporary defeat. And Peter had seen him lying there, and the blood, and the heavy-lidded look of the wounded, and something inside of him had let out a small whine, even as he'd ordered the servants out. Peter's mouth had opened and all sorts of nonsense about _heroes and kings and good men and Edmund_ had tumbled out.

Edmund, Edmund had stared with a dark amusement barely concealed beneath the physical pain that was drawing sharp lines upon his face. Edmund had let Peter talk his way half way to forever, before he'd finally reached out his good hand, bunching Peter's shirt, drawn him down and kissed him - hard, male, bloodied, and rough with short beard grown unintentionally during their campaign. He'd muttered, "Is _that _what you're trying to say?", and then his eyes had stuttered closed and he'd vanished into the realms of black sleep, his hand falling onto Peter's thigh even as his head sunk back against the pillows.

How silent it was, until Peter gave in, gave up, took that hand and held it.

Funny, how obvious the truth is in its aftermath.


End file.
